“You think you're not getting your weight?”
“Well, sir, you see—some of the men—we think it would be better if we had the check-weighman. We're willing to pay for him.”
“Who's this check-weighman to be?”
“Joe Smith, here.”
Hal braced himself to meet the other's stare. “Oh! So it's you!” Then, after a moment, “So that's why you were feeling so gay!”
Hal was not feeling in the least gay at the moment; but he forebore to say so. There was a silence.
“Now, why do you fellows want to throw away your money?” The superintendent started to argue with them, showing the absurdity of the notion that they could gain anything by such a course. The mine had been running for years on its present system, and there had never been any complaint. The idea that a company as big and as responsible as the “G. F. C.” would stoop to cheat its workers out of a few tons of coal! And so on, for several minutes.
“Mr. Cartwright,” said Edstrom, when the other had finished, “you know I've worked all my life in mines, and most of it in this district. I am telling you something I know when I say there is general dissatisfaction throughout these camps because the men feel they are not getting their weight. You say there has been no public complaint; you understand the reason for this—”
“What is the reason?”
“Well,” said Edstrom, gently, “maybe you don't know the reason—but anyway we've decided that we want a check-weighman.”